


Tales from the Adventure Zone: A Day in Neverwinter

by FilmFreak94



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilmFreak94/pseuds/FilmFreak94
Summary: A collection of three stories cataloging the Trés Horny Boys' day in the titular city. Set between episodes 50 and 51.





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> So... there are a couple things interesting about the making of this story. I guess the gist of it is I straight up lied to the person I was writing it for for like a month to surprise her for her birthday and it was totally worth it (in more ways than one). 
> 
> Also, this was a little difficult seeing as how most of the character's personality comes from improv of the people playing them, so trying to narrow down mannerisms and such seemed daunting at first but she said it was pretty in-character and she's been eating up anything TAZ related for a couple months now so I'm entitled to believe her (again, for more reasons than one, I'm being vague cuz I like it, haha).
> 
> So yeah, here ya go. Hope you enjoy it. And... yeah... have a good one... cya.

**Dear Reader,**

**If you have stumbled upon this vague and needlessly ominous foreword, this implies that you have a certain craving for tales… out of the ordinary.**

**Tales that tell of derring-do, good and bad luck tales, danger lurking behind you, strangers out to find you. You seek the tales of three seemingly ordinary men in a very unordinary city. A jolly and secretive trio each with their own strengths and triumphs, and their own dark secrets to carry along with them. Possibly to their graves.**

**Perhaps, firstly, you seek a warrior, troubled with the burdens of an unreliable memory and finding unintended but not unwelcome solace in a friend with problems of their own? Thievery, assault, and high speed thrills await you in this, the first tale.**

**But only if you dare to cross through the veil of your mundane, maple syrup filled life and step into… The Adventure Zone!!!**


	2. Cold Feet on a Warm Night

To the common passerby, the sight of Magnus Burnsides walking down the street in his usual, brutish gait could make even the saltiest of orcs give him a wide berth. He was a large man, built upon layers of concentrated testosterone that was displayed through a sleeveless shirt (more for his own comfort than to be boisterous). He, like many burly adventurers like him, carried most of his weapons on his person always, from the mundane axes and shields to the outlandish magical artifacts (he also hoarded an unusual robotic arm collection for a time). And these were only the few he carried on his person at this given moment. The total number of weapons Magnus had accumulated throughout his life were enough to make any citizen of the normally hyperbolic Neverwinter spare another glance at him.

Magnus normally found himself wandering the lonely streets of the city during the most tedious part of his relatively new career working as a Reclaimer of Grand (read: horribly destructive in the wrong/any hands) Relics at the secretive Bureau of Balance. Never being one to enjoy the waiting game, it was only made worse by the revelations presented to him in the recent weeks following an already emotionally fatiguing mission retrieving the last Relic they had found; turning his affable smile and rustic charm that could quickly put restless minds at ease, enough to pour their most personal secrets to him after only an hour of meeting him, less so as he was now.

His chipper and confident demeanor was replaced by that of any vagabond you would quickly cross to the other side of the road upon seeing, carrying himself as any normal human would if they were forced to hold even one weapon of his. He had clearly seen things that even an adventurer who had gone as far as New Elfington and back could only dream of. But he knew that they couldn’t even manage that, the BoB made sure of it.

Magnus would still give a small grin to any eyes that met his, though it was not as comforting as it would be in his brighter spirits. The visions he had been wrestling with ever since his visit to Refuge played repeatedly in his mind, as though the Voidfish still had its tendril on his forehead, or the chalice they had long since destroyed still clung to his shadow, scrambling his brain every time he tried to make sense of it all.

Long walks through Neverwinter did well to remind him of what it all was for. The hustle of citizens of all races and creed, the smell of a hard day’s labor from the familiar workshops, it all served to calm his mind after any long adventure with the rest of his team. Usually.

He took in a deep breath of the sooty, city air and released it as he swung his broad arms in a circle, trying to get limber for no rhyme or reason (and nearly clocking a passing dwarf in the process) when his gaze fell upon a familiar face in the crowd. A rougher face, to be sure, but not in the metaphorical sense one could apply to his own. This was a very literal, rough face that belonged to a good friend of the humble rogue. In fact, it was the body attached to the face that taught him everything he knew about being a rogue. The face attached to the body was a dragon’s face, attached to a dragon’s body, and that body was his teacher Carey Fangbattle’s, currently attached to the side of a building.

Magnus found no need to force a smile at the sight of her, but showed a rare moment of hesitance from approaching or calling attention to himself. There was something off about the way the normally laid back dragonborn appeared to him. Her eyes darted in all directions, and her fingers tapped against her scaled skin as she took labored breaths. Some demon seemed to hang over her head (perhaps a literal one given the things they’d seen) and make her appear confused and misplaced where she could normally demand the presence of an entire battlefield. She was also wearing a yellow dress, that might have added to it.

Magnus’s warm grin faded to a perplexed frown at this spectacle, perking up once again when a wicked goof took shape in his mind. Not wicked in the traditional, malicious sense, but how else can you describe sneaking up and surprising the person (or dragon/lizard/thing) who taught you everything they knew about such things?

Keeping his head low, Magnus ducked behind a group of halflings inching carefully through the crowd and behind every person he could inconspicuously shadow to get closer to Carey. Through no small feat of acrobatics, Magnus performed an intricate dance through the crowded street to the far-left side of the building Carey was standing in front of, which he now recognized as a pub. Carefully, carefully, he snuck closer to his good bud Care, fully in view of him and rife for the spooking. He extended a solitary finger, bringing it so that the tip almost touched her shoulder and…

“Hey, Magnus.” Magnus Burnsides, proud warrior and hero to many, fell promptly on his ass at the sudden abruptness of his mentor’s greeting.

“Shit, I thought I had you there.” He said, rubbing the bruise on his left buttock.

“Oh no,” Carey offered him a hand, “you did great, really, it was nice to see you use what I’d taught you so efficiently.” She helped hoist him back on his feet.

“So what gave me away?”

“You’re like six feet, Mag, a group of halflings isn’t the most ideal place to hide.”

“What’s with all the halflings and dwarves round here anyway?”

“Well, we are in the halfling side of town, homie.” The sign hanging up just before he entered the district saying, “Welcome to Halflingtown” suddenly made more sense.

“Oh,” he said. “But, come on, you gotta give me props for using my environment and shit, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Carey turned away and fell back into how Magnus first spotted her; fidgeting uncontrollably with her fingers tapping against her skin and her tail thumping against the side of the pub. She groaned as she reached an arm back to hold it in place.

“Damn this thing,” she said, referring to her dress, “feels like my skin’s crawling.”

“You look nice,” Magnus said. The compliment was not lost on Carey but she could only return it with a grunt in her current state, her tail still pulsating involuntarily. “Whatchuall dolled up for?” Carey’s cheeks turned an unusual shade of red.

“Oh it’s nothing. I’m just gonna meet up with Killian here in a bit.”

“Oh, cool-cool,” Magnus said, “should I get out of your hair?”

“Nah, you can chill here a bit, it’s fine. It might actually make me feel…” Her voice trailed off with an awkward and uncharacteristic chuckle. He could tell, he’d been forcing plenty himself the past while. “The company would be nice, that’s all.”

Magnus said no more and folded his arms as he propped himself on the side of the building next to his mentor, people-watching as she could hardly bring her gaze up from whatever lied in the pocket sewn into her dress.

“I say, guvna,” Magnus said, voicing a dwarf locked in a haggle with a merchant over a sapphire necklace some ways down the road. “does this necklace bring out the color of my eyes or am I more of a summer color?” Carey snorted a little, but seemed no less perturbed. “Hey, uh… everything’s cool with you two, right?”

“Huh?”

“You and Killian?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we’re good.” Carey reached up her left sleeve to scratch at her armpit.

“You sure, ‘cause you seem kinda antsy about something.”

“Antsy? Me?” Her tail started to pound against the building behind her until she reached back and pulled it to her front. “What gave you that idea?”     

“Carey…” Magnus raised an eyebrow as his friend’s tail started to writhe in her grasp. She refused to look at him as her cheeks started to glow. “Caaaaaaaaarey…” He repeated. The shade of red on her face grew darker still, and Magnus was making it difficult to avoid looking at him when he shoved his face not an inch from her own goading, “Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-”

“All right, all right, just…” Carey reached into the pocket of her dress. “Look!” The color of her cheeks seemed well on their way to changing the palette of her entire body as she showed Magnus a familiar trinket. He had made many grand and beautiful objects before in his time as a carpenter; lovely pieces of furniture, houses that could withstand a great many years of wear and tear both inside and out. And yet out of all these, the ones he considered his greatest work were the smaller, more personal creations with a great deal of meaning carved into them. This wooden duck was one such item.

“Isn’t this…” Carey nodded, and with a few turns that Magnus was surprised he could still remember, the duck opened to reveal another trinket of his make; a ring made out of rosewood, roughly the appropriate size for an orc’s ring finger.

Carey regretted showing him this the moment Magnus’s grin stretched across his entire face and his eyes appeared a second away from bursting out from their sockets.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I KNEEEEEEEEEEEW IT!” He began to poke her in unison with, “IknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitI-”

“Mag, stop.”

“IknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitIknewitIkn-”

“Stop it.”

“newitIknewitIknewitIknewitIknewi-” She slapped his fingers away. “Sorry.”

“Agh, it’s fine…” Magnus gave her the duck and ring, realizing both her hands were shaking as she held them. “I was gonna tell you ages ago anyway but I guess…”

“You got nervous?” Carey opened her mouth but closed it not a second later, shaking her head with a soft grunt.

“It’s totally fine being nervous, Care.” He put a firm but reassuring hand on her shoulder, thankful he didn’t have to worry about his own strength given her armor-like skin. “Marriage is a pretty fucking big step. No one’s gonna blame you if you have some second thoughts.”

“I don’t have second thoughts, though.” Carey closed her hand around the ring, almost caressing it with her fingers as she spoke. “At least… I think I don’t. We got a good thing going, Killian and me. We’ve never really talked about…” She held the ring up.  “But it feels… right to me? Like, it feels like we are already anyway, might as well do it for real or something like that.”

“Sure.” Magnus said.

“But then,” She went on, “maybe it isn’t right. Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions. Maybe she doesn’t want to take it any further. Maybe she-OOF!” As Carey went through an endless list of “maybes,” a young halfling girl with frizzy, curly ginger hair in a purplish cloak suddenly ran into her, knocking the rogue on her back and sending the wooden duck flying onto the street.

“Oops,” the girl said, “very sorry miss,” and then ran off down the road without another word.

“Little shit.” Magnus helped Carey up after she had retrieved the duck.

“Wait…” She looked inside the duck, patted at her pocket and searched the street at foot-level in a frantic sweep. “The ring.”

“What about it?”

“It’s gone!” Magnus seized up and turned, slow and full of fury, towards the halfling girl still running down the street, holding something close to her chest.

“DEAD little shit!” Magnus rushed ahead.

“Mag, wait!” Carey hitched up her dress and followed suit, picking up speed until she was at the warrior’s side. The girl, by this point, had noticed she was being followed by two very large and very angry looking rogues, and promptly ran as fast as her little legs could carry her into the market place.

“Go left, I’ll hang right!” Carey shouted. Magnus gave her a thumbs up before putting the skills she had taught him to use; Jumping over carts, sidestepping pedestrians, ducking under a carriage all in the span of ten seconds, while Carey never broke stride through a particularly busy fish vendor’s stand, grabbing a trout and throwing it at the girl whom she was slowly gaining on.

 The trout hit the girl square on the back of her head, knocking her off balance before she caught herself on a crate of fruit. Carey was only a few steps away from her now.

“Yipe!” She yipped, knocking over the crate and several others as she ran ahead. Magnus watched in awe as the dragonborn picked up even more speed than before, running along the side of a nearby building, up to about six feet off the ground, before she propelled herself past the crates. She landed back on the ground with a spin and continued her dash after the girl.

“Carey,” Magnus called after her, “you are so awes-OOF!”

In his sheer awe at the amazing stunts his mentor had performed, Magnus failed to consider the coconut stand dead ahead of him, crashing headfirst into it and scattering its contents everywhere. The vendor stood with his arms on his head, mouth agape in horror.

“My coconuts! My beautiful coconuts!” Magnus groaned as he wiped a bit of milk off his face and brushed a few broken coconuts off his person. The vendor stared at him as if he’d killed all his children.

“I should hope you’re going to pay for these damages, sir?!”

“Pay for what?”

“This!” He gestured at the broken stand and coconuts Magnus had squashed.

“Oh, sure, sure, sure, no problem buddy,” Magnus stood, plopping a stray bit of meat into his mouth. “Just mail the bill to KHHHKHHKHKHKHKHH on the KHKHKHKHKH.” The vendor blinked.

“Uhm… what?”

“Oh sorry, the KHHHKHHKHKHKHKHH on the KHKHKHKHKH, run by KHHKHKH, P.O. Box KHHKKHKHKHKHKHKHKHKHKHKH room KHKKHKHKHKKKKHKHKK okay?”

“I’m… not understanding a word you’re saying.”

“No, no, you gotta listen here dude, you gotta listen,” he put his hand on the vendor’s shoulder. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening but I can’t-”

“You gotta listen.”

“-understand a word you’re saying.”

“That’s cuz you’re not listening to me, now pay attention I’m not gonna repeat myself after this. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“You got a pen?”

“Just tell me where to send it!”

“Okay, okay, okay, here it goes, I’m gonna say this slowly for ya… KKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHKHHHKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHKKKKKKKHHHHKKHKKKKKHKKKKHHHKHKHKKHKKHKKHKKsoupKHHHHHHHHKKHKHKKHKHKKKHKKKon the left sideKKHHKKHKKKKHKKKHKKKKKHHHHHKHKHKKHHKHKFinlandKKHKHKHKHKHKKKHKHKKHKKHHKKHKHadamantiumKKHKKHKHKHHHKKKKHKHKHKHHKKHKKHKKHKH got it?” The vendor blinked again.

“Were you just going ‘KHKHKHKH’ and saying random things?”

“Welp, gotta go, good luck with your business!” Magnus ran back down the road to where Carey and that girl had run off to, snickering as he got out of the vendor’s earshot.

           

Magnus searched the crowd for any traces of Carey or the halfling girl, but couldn’t make head or tail of either of them (he’d have to use that joke later). He might have called out to Carey at least but thought better of it, in case that thief was still around, lurking in the shadows trying to avoid them.

He didn’t have to wait very long before the flash of a yellow dress caught he corner of his eye, leading him down a narrow alleyway that ended on what appeared to be an inn that was in heavy disrepair. The windows were cracked or broken entirely and the sign above the door was hanging on by literal pins and needles, the words so faded he couldn’t make out the inn’s name.

“Can I help youse with somethin’?” A dwarf standing guard by the front door made himself known.

“I’m looking for my friend; cool looking dragon lady, yellow dress, you see her?” The dwarf shrugged.

“You sees a lot of dragons ladies in yellow dresses round these parts.”

“What is it, a fashion thing?” The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Well how bout a little halfling girl, she was in this purple looking cloak and had a rosewood ring.”

“Hmmm…” The dwarf stroked his beard. “I might remember somethin’ like that… if only I could recall…” He held out his open palm, going only as high as Magnus’s pelvis, wiggling his fingers in the universal ‘gimme’ motion. Magnus gave him a low five.

“Up top!” He held his own palm to the side of his head. The dwarf was about to say something before the sound of an argument from inside interrupted them. One of the voices instantly recognizable.

“See a lot of dragons ladies in yellow dresses, huh?” Magnus asked as he started to make his way inside. The dwarf quickly stepped in front of the doorframe.

“‘Ey ‘ey ‘ey bud, you got a death wish or somethin’? You wanna get through this here door here, you gotta go through me here, you know what I’m sayin’ here-HEY!” Magnus tossed the dwarf over his shoulder. “HEY! HEY! HEY! Youse put me down youse guy! I’m gonna shove my axe so far up your ayse your unborn childrens is gonna feel it!” Magnus looked around him until he found the nearest garbage can, removing the lid and dumping the dwarf butt-first inside. “You sunava bitch! Fight fair! Fight fair!”

“Nnnnnnope.” He put the lid over the dwarf’s torso for good measure and turned about face in the direction of the inn.

“You are gonna be post-mortem when I get outta ‘ere! You hear me guy?! POST. MORT-TEM!” Magnus never turned back as he entered the inn. He followed the sound of muffled shouting to a backroom at the very end of the entry hall, to a door with faded gold lettering that read, ‘M-nage-’. He was met with a rush of heightened and angry voices when he opened the door.

“-you think you are that you can come in here and accuse me of-”

“-I saw her do it myself! I have a friend who saw it too!”

“Oh yeah, what friend?”

“Present!” Magnus waved at the older halfling woman Carey was currently butting heads with, standing behind a desk. She wore a cloak like the girl’s but with a slightly greener hue, and shared the thief’s ginger hair, only hers was well groomed and reached down to her shoulders.

“Who the hell are you?” She asked. Even though she was about a head smaller than the dwarf outside, Magnus couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by her icy, blue-eyed stare.

“Hail and well met,” Magnus said, “I am Magnus Burnsides, might I have your name in turn, dear woman?” He held his hand out to the woman who gave it a once over before giving him her own.

“Dreblow. Isadora Dreblow.”

“Charmed, Madame.” Magnus said, using his own charm to try and defuse the argument he had walked into. It appeared to be working if Isadora’s blush was anything to go by. “What seems to be the trouble here ma’am?”

“Miss.” She corrected him with a hint of innuendo. Her tiny hand was all but lost in his until she retracted it with an awkward cough. “Well, this,” she gestured to Carey with disdain, “dragonborn person seems to be under the impression that my daughter has taken a valuable object of hers.”

“Oh, she totally did.” Magnus said. Isadora shot him a look that could give Lucretia a run for her money.

“And just why am I supposed to trust the word of you two… warriors?”

“Well, she’s a rogue; I’m a level ten warrior, level two rogue technically.”

“And I’m level fifty in not giving a rat’s ass. Why should I take your word over my daughter’s?”

“Look, lady…” Carey took a step forward but Magnus held her back, raising a finger as he stood between the two.

“Your daughter’s a ginger too right?”

“Yes…”

“Light cloak, purplish?”

“Magenta.” Magnus snapped his fingers.

“That’s the one.”

“I fail to see the significance.” Isadora said.

“A little halfling girl in a magenta cloak bumped into my friend, Carey here, and stole the ring in all the confusion.”

“Like I said.” Carey crossed her arms. Isadora made a low, growling noise in her throat, her eyes passing between the two of them before they turned to another door to their right.

“How do I know you didn’t nick this ring from someone yourselves?”

“He’s the one who made the ring.” Carey nudged her head towards Magnus who nodded.

“I’m a carpenter. I can prove it if you give me like, an hour and some nails. Make you a nice chair or something.”

“No… no, I don’t think that will be necessary.” Isadora finally seemed to look halfway convinced. “Rose, get out here!”

The door, which led to a bedroom, opened and the halfling girl stepped into the office. She gasped when she saw Magnus and Carey but composed herself when she stood between them and her mother, staring down at the floor while Isadora looked at her expectantly.

“These two tell me a rather interesting story.” Rose refused to look up, kicking a bit of dust on the floor. “They say you stole something pretty valuable of theirs.” Magnus crossed his arms when he realized the other adults were doing the same.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Rose said, her voice no higher than a whisper.

“Turn out your pockets.” From the chill of her voice Magnus was almost compelled to turn out his own pockets, but Rose made no immediate action. “Well?” The girl groaned and cut straight to the heart, removing the ring from her right pant pocket and slamming it onto the desk.

“Hey, be careful with that!” Magnus said as Carey snatched it from the girl’s reach. Isadora began tapping her foot, not unlike a death knell.

“Well?” She repeated. Rose put her hands in her pockets and turned away, glaring up at Magnus and sticking her tongue out. Magnus stuck his out in turn. “Answer me, young lady.” Rose frowned as her mother grew impatient. “Where do you get the idea that you can steal something like that and get away with it? Who taught you that it was acceptable to be so callous with another person’s property?”

“YOU alright!” Rose snapped, surprising everyone else in the room. “I learned it by watching you!!!” With that the girl stormed back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Isadora sighed and sat behind her desk.

“I am sorry about this,” She said as she rubbed her temples. “Rupert,” she called into something resembling a Stone of Farspeech, “some wine, if you would.” She groaned and settled her head onto her desk. Magnus exchanged a look with Carey and stepped forward.

“So… I don’t mean to pry but… that seemed a little…”

“No, it’s my fault, I am sorry to the both of you.”

“Hey, I know there’s this whole stigma about a kid only being as good as their parent, but sometimes they get other bad influences in their life like friends or other adults or-”

“No, no,” Isadora lifted her head up, “it’s literally my fault. I’m the head of the thieves’ guild for this district.”

“…Oh.” Magnus said, turning to Carey who was lost in her own thoughts. “Guess that explains the guard out front.”

“Oh, you’ve met Rupert?”

“Uh, yeah, you could say that.”

“Yes, I am a thief, the master thief if you will, but I’ve fought hard to exclude Rose from that… colorful part of my life. It’s more to keep a roof over her head than anything else. And I certainly have never encouraged her to steal something as valuable as a wedding ring.”

“Engagement ring, actually.” Magnus said.

“Oh?” She seemed a touch disappointed at this.

“Oh no, not mine, it’s hers.” Magnus pointed at where Carey had been. “Ah, dunk. Uh, listen, Isadora.”

“Please, call me Izzy.” She said, a blush creeping back on her cheeks.

“Yeah, listen, you should think about letting your daughter join in your thieving bizz.”

“What?” The color of her cheeks changed from desire to fury.

“Like, I don’t often say this, but she was really good. I feel like with a little bit more training she could be a pretty accomplished thief.”

“You’re actually encouraging me to let my daughter steal?”

“Yeah, why not, right?” Isadora considered this as Magnus walked backwards out the door to the entry hall.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea… I suppose it’s worth a shot. Thank you… Magnus, was it?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out. Nice meeting you!” He ran towards the door.

“W-wait, will I see you again?”

“PROBABLY NOT, THIS ISN’T CANON!!!” Magnus yelled back as he ran back out to the alleyway. He paused half a moment to try and get Carey’s bearings and at the shock of a large hermit crab that upon further inspection turned out to be Rupert the dwarf on his feet with the trashcan still stuck to his ass.

“‘Ey! Youse again?! Get over ‘ere ya big palooka, I’m gonna show ya how a real man f-AH!” He toppled over as Magnus ran by, giving him the tiniest nudge as he did. Rupert kicked his legs and moved his arms in fruitless gestures, screaming obscenities at Magnus as the warrior ran on. He knew Carey couldn’t have gotten too far ahead, but as he retraced his steps back up the alleyway he couldn’t spot any trace of her at all. Not until a shingle from a nearby rooftop almost fell on top of him.

Magnus reared his head upwards and saw a flash of yellow hopping across the roofs of the huddled buildings along the left side of the alleyway. “Carey!” He cried, but his mentor gave him no response. “Carey, wait up!”

“Leave me alone!” Carey called back in the most serious tone Magnus had ever heard from her. If there was one thing he prided himself on, however, it was his innate inability to follow simple orders even from his closest friends.

He kept a good pace from the alleyway below, catching enough glimpses of her dress in the fading sunlight to track her. Eventually he came upon a ladder to his right leading to the rooftops, leaping on it and using only his arms to propel himself upwards in less than three seconds. He leapt from the very top of the ladder and did a midair spin before landing with a roll on the roof (or at least that’s how he would tell it later), giving a citizen fixing his shingles a good scare in the process.

“What the fuhuhwoah!” The shingle-repairer lost his footing and started to tumble three floors to the cobblestone alley below, before Magnus caught him and flung him back on the roof. “AGH, MY ASS!”

“No need for thanks, citizen!” Magnus made a running jump over to the other side of the rooftops, not breaking his stride as he ran to catch up with Carey. Roof after roof they jumped across, Magnus following the lead of a dragonborn with no sense of purpose as to where she went. All she could do was run. Run as far and fast as she could in any direction until fatigue set in and her sense of purpose caught up with her. By the time Magnus had finally caught up as well, she was sitting at the edge of a building overlooking the market, letting her feet dangle in the breeze.

“What a workout,” Magnus said. He wasn’t one to get winded easily, but he didn’t come to Carey asking for help in honing his skills for nothing. She didn’t address him as he approached her, nor when he sat next to her by the edge. Rather than dance around the issue as they had been the past while, Magnus cut right to the heart. “Are you okay?”

 “I just… ugh…” Carey’s shoulders sank. She brought her legs back on the roof, wrapping them in her arms and burying her nose between her knees. “I gotta look like the biggest fucking idiot right now.”

“Hey,” Magnus said, “I wrote the book on being the biggest fucking idiot, alright. The whole reason we know each other is ‘cause I’m the biggest fucking idiot.” No reaction. In all sincerity, Magnus would never put Carey anywhere near the level she had placed herself at this, a very understandable moment of inner conflict. Perhaps, he thought, what she needed now weren’t self-depreciating quips or deflections away from the root of her problem. What she needed now, more than anything else, was a person with a solid frame of reference in a matter such as this.

“You know,” Magnus said, looking up to the stars that had just started to appear in the evening sky. “I had a buddy who got pretty nervous about taking that extra leap, back in my hometown.” Carey glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “He had this lady friend; beautiful, smart, funny, the whole gamut, and he was gonna propose to her smack dab on the spring equinox, her favorite time of year.” Carey raised her head. “He had everything all set up too; her favorite meal, her favorite flowers, music, candlelight, her father’s blessing, a quaint little picnic table carved by yours truly. But there was one problem he had that held him back.” He paused, waiting for the right response from his audience of one.

“What was it?” She was hooked, now to reel it home.

“He was scared shitless. And this guy, he wasn’t like an average dude either, he was me – uh, like me – big brawny dude you know?”

“Like the Brawny Man?”

“Yeah, exactly, like the Brawny Man, actually he _was_ the Brawny Man, I didn’t wanna say anything ‘cause I didn’t wanna be that guy who was all, ‘yeah I know this famous dude,’ but whatever, secret’s out, can’t do shit now.

“Anyway, Brawny’s wearing this tight ass suit, like, really chaffing his skin and with a tie that’s squeezing his neck and it’s just agony for him, and he’s running around the whole night like a chicken with his head cut off worrying about ruining his big moment or her saying no and blah, blah, blah, but something happened that e-mediately got his act together.” He paused again. Carey shook her head, aware of what he was doing but too invested to not play along at this point.

“What?” A name appeared on Magnus’s lips before he caught it, forcing it back down his throat with a subtle swallow he hoped she didn’t notice. She did, of course, but kept her lips sealed.

“Her.” He gave a simple reply. “He saw his fiancé, well, future fiancé anyway, and after that he let everything go. All his worries, all his ‘what-ifs,’ and he just… started being himself. And you know what he found out from being himself?”

“Skip the pause, please.” Carey said.

“He wasn’t ready. Not right then. He loved her with everything he had, had everything he needed to make it perfect and was sure she’d say yes. But he needed some time to work out his own thoughts on marriage and what it meant for the rest of his life. So he held off, up until about another year went by and he’d fallen even deeper in love with her. Couldn’t stop thinking of her and how he wanted to share the rest of his life with her forever, and that’s when I…” He felt his lip tremble and a tear trickle down his cheek. “I told him, he was ready… and he agreed. And that second proposal kicked some romantic fucking ass, let me tell you somethin’.”

Carey unclenched her left palm and revealed the rosewood ring. She ran her thumb along it as she let the story of ‘Brawny’ sink in. Magnus laid a hand on her shoulder once again, minding his strength this time even though he didn’t have to.

“Killian’s gonna say yes no matter how or where you say it, Care. But she wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed some more time.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” Carey closed her eyes and lifted her chin, letting the aroma of the city sink in and the warm spring air clear her mind. When her eyes opened again Magnus saw the Carey Fangbattle he had met in the crystal laboratory. The dragonborn who had given him more resolve and courage than she could ever know. Magnus had given her some of his own in turn, even long before tonight, but of course he remained blissfully unaware of it. You did have to be a special sort of thick to be a Reclaimer after all.

“Thanks, Mag.” She put her hand over his, patting it once before she rose to her full height. “That Brawny Man sure is an inspiration.”

“If you can’t trust the Brawny Man who can you trust, goldarned?” The clock tower at the heart of the city chimed the hour, sending another but more subdued spark of panic to Carey.

“Ah, shoot, I was supposed to meet up with Killian ages ago.”

“You want me to cover for ya?”

“Nah, NO-3113’s been dragging her in a circle around the shopping district for like an hour.”

“Smart.” Magnus said. “So, whatcha gonna do?”

“First thing,” Carey hitched up her dress again, “I’m gonna take this off and get into something more comfy. This thing’s been a pain in my butt all night.”

“I still say you look pretty snazzy in it.” She rolled her eyes and tried to suppress a goofy smile.

“It was NO-3113’s idea. Can’t fit any weapons on it or anything. She wouldn’t even let me take a couple smoke bombs ‘cause she was worried I’d ruin it if one went off. Gonna have to kick her butt for that later… besides, like you said, it’s not really me, you know?” He nodded.

“Whatever you pick, let me know, huh?”

“You’ll be one of the first.” Carey put the ring back in the duck and put both in her pocket. Her hand lingered inside it for a moment before she let it rest at her side. “See ya round, Magnus.”

“Yeah, when the Director puts us through more of that training, right?” He called out to her as she left.

“And your butt better be ready for it!” Magnus watched her jump straight off the roof and out of sight, never once hearing the sound of her landing or sauntering off into the night.

Magnus stayed on that rooftop for some time, enough to hear three of the clock tower’s chimes in total. He counted the stars and made out their constellations, Steven swimming around his bowl that lay on his lap, and memory flashing in his head. Memory had been all that he could think about for the longest time, but rather than focusing on what he had forgotten, Magnus instead saw the ones he had all but suppressed to spare him pain. The good, the bad, they all held the same clout of nostalgia for him. The same name that had almost escaped his lips. He let it free just one more time.

“Julia…”

 

**...**

 

**Well, that was a bit of a bummer at the end there, wasn’t it?**

**If wistful recollections of days long past or young lovers and ships that pass through the night aren’t to your satisfaction, perhaps this next offering can give you a bit more of a thrill. For this next story sees our dear dwarven cleric in a most dire circumstance.**

**A simple discussion of faith and the hope of inspiring it in a new generation is like a fork in a long and perilous road. Tread carefully, or it can lead down a most dangerous path in the fair city of Neverwinter. A road less traveled that leads to a sudden stop to the doorstep of Hell itself.**

**Yes, in this next tale we’re taking you, dear reader… to church.**


	3. Where's Pan When I'm About to be S-Sacrificed?

Merle Highchruch had been using his time away from the Bureau of Balance by reconnecting with those he had been neglecting for some time during his escapades in a crystal-infested lab and a desert town bereft of the beautiful vegetation found in the Blue Lake District of Neverwinter; the plants.

Although he had spent a lovely afternoon with his actual children some time before, the dwarf found himself returning to the Sea of Gardens park from time to time to better connect with the forces of nature that Pan so graciously gifted to the world.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning where all the birds had come out to flitter around the trees and shrubbery, and the flowers were all in bloom, some floating gently with the breeze. He caught a magnolia and gave it a slow, thoughtful sniff as he focused all the stress from his body, ready to dispel it when he exhaled. There must have been a great deal of negativity within him given the force of the sneeze that sent the magnolia and a great deal of snot flying into the ice cream cone of a nearby child.

“Oooh, mommy look,” she said tugging on the shirt of her mother, “a flower got in my ice cream!” Merle waddled up to the girl and swatted her ice cream away before she could get in another lick.

“MY ICE CREAM!” She cried. Her mother, who had been distracted, turned to see the commotion her child was making, and saw the cone in shambles.

“Oh, honey, I told you, you had to take better care of it.”

“It wasn’t me! It was him!” She pointed at Merle but was shocked when the dwarf wasn’t there. For a short and chubby little dwarf as he was, Merle Highchurch was a quick short and chubby little dwarf, and that was all the better for situations such as these.

He stopped to take a quick breather on a bench somewhere in the center of the park once he’d put as much distance between the sobbing child and himself as he could, where a statue of his patron God stood at the center of a large fountain. There were several fountains like this one scattered around the park, featuring many of the known Gods and Goddesses associated with nature from all the different races and creatures, but Merle knew better. Pan was the mightiest of them all; Who else would have the power to heal his right arm after it was so callously cut off by his own cohort, replacing it with one made entirely of wood. Though it had taken some time to get used to, he felt a much humbler connection to Pan from this replacement, carrying a bit of nature with him wherever he went. His faith had been put through the wringer a great many times before, but as he stood in the shadow of the statue, Merle had never felt more at peace.

He closed his eyes and began to chant a small prayer in thanks to the horned God for this beautiful moment of clarity and humility. He could hear faint whispering around him, probably some groups offended that he would so proudly showcase his faith in public, but he tuned them out. Focusing on the words passed down to him by his father, and his father before him, and all the proud followers of Pan long before the both of them.

“Mecca lecca hi mecca hiney ho… mecca lecca hi mecca hiney ho… mecca lecca hi mecca hiney ho… mecca lecca-”

“What’s that?”

Merle opened his eyes and saw two green, bare feet standing a few inches in front of the bench. He followed the feet upwards and saw a young gerblin youth looking at him expectantly. A wonder he hadn’t seen from anyone this child’s age in a very long time whenever it came to religion.

“Oh, this?” He laughed. “I’m just offering a simple prayer to my God, young one.” His voice was soft and teetering on the edge of approachable and concerning for children.

“Who is your God?” The gerblin tilted his head, his pointed ears drooping a little as they did. Merle’s spirit lifted at this question, beckoning the young lad to sit on the bench next to him.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Xebadiah, sir.” The gerblin, Xebadiah, said as he sat down.

“Ah, Xebadiah, a strong name. You religious, Xebadiah?”

“My parents are.” Merle nodded his head, wrapping his organic arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“And how old are you, Xeb? May I call you Xeb?”

“Uh, sure, I’m twelve.” Merle’s face brightened.

“Aha, the perfect age.” Xeb’s eyes went wide as Merle reached inside his shirt. “Xeb… have you heard the good word of Pan?” From his inner vest pocket Merle retrieved a book with a torn and faded looking cover, yet the pages inside were still in valuable condition. Merle held it up for the boy to see. The title, X-treme Teen Bible, flashing the sun’s reflection.

“Uh, no sir,” Xeb said with a small sigh of relief, “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, Pan,” he pointed to the statue in the fountain, “is one of the raddest Gods you’ll ever learn about, my dude!” He held his fist out to Xeb, who flinched before he realized he was going in for a bump. “Pan’s in charge of nature, he’s in charge of music, he’s a companion of nymphsssssssssssssssssof other people Yeah, nymphs of other people, totally…” Xeb had a bemused look on his face.

“Is that like a unit of measurement or-”

“It’s Dwarvish, don’t worry about it.”

“A Dwarvish unit of measurement?”

“Yeah, sure, shut up kid.”

“So, he’s in charge of like, vegetables and stuff?” The gerblin boy asked.

“In a way, yeah. Let me tell you something Xeb,” he pointed at the book, “every question you’ve ever had about Pan-”

“I don’t know if I’d say it’s a lot of-”

“-it’s all in this here book. And I’d be more than happy to loan you a copy, starting at the low price of 19.99, (plus shipping and handling).” Xeb seemed to consider this, staring inquisitively at the book, at the statue, and then at Merle.

“So… you’d say you’re a pretty devout follower of Pan, right?”

“That I am, Xeb, that I am.”

“Well, he sounds like a pretty cool dude, sir-”

“Merle Highcurch.”

“Mr. Highchurch, but I-”

“Aw, please, just Merle. Mr. Highchurch was my father.” Xeb seemed to grow more annoyed with each interruption.

“Merle… I just wanna know one thing about you before I make any seal of a deal; On a scale of one to ten how devoted would you say you are to your God?” Merle’s enthusiastic grin fell at this question. Looking down at the bible and then at the statue of his deity, turning back to the boy who was waiting with the same expectant face he bore when they first met. Who was he to deny such an honest question from a child as malleable towards his beliefs as this?

“Well, I,” he cleared his throat. “I gotta be honest with ya, Xeb, it’s not always easy. Y’see there are a lot of hardships on the road of life we all travel on, and sometimes they can start to make you question things like whether there really is any ol’ deity looking out for you, whether they aren’t just playing some sick cosmic game with ya and all that. I mean,” he held up his wooden arm, “this didn’t come without some major introspective questions about how much Pan valued me I’ll tell ya that.” He laughed, but Xeb still stared at him, his expression unchanging.

“But it’s all perfectly natural to have doubts like that from time to time. Dwarves, gerblins, everybody, we exist on a plane that can’t possibly hope to comprehend the actions of higher beings like Pan. Though we may question, we may have our doubts, we can’t shake our faith in times of hardship. There’s an old story they used to tell in the compound I grew up in; y’see, there was this dwarf walking with Pan along the beach, and they left two trails of footprints on the sand. But at certain points, one trail of footprints wouldn’t be there anymore, and the dwarf says to Pan when he gets to the very end of their trail, ‘Why did you leave me when the trail was at its hardest, I could only see one pair of footprints on the sand instead of two during the easy times.’ And Pan says, ‘Oh, you know, the other Gods were throwing this pretty bitching party so I had to take five for a few seconds, but I got your back those other times and that’s really all that matters when you think about it, right?’” Xeb looked as if he were two seconds from calling the royal guard.

“Not the best story in the world, I know. But the thing I took away from it over the years is you can never predict the unknown. Our goat works in mysterious ways after all.”

“So, one to ten, how devoted are you?” Xeb repeated his question.

“Well Xeb, full disclosure, I’d probably rate myself somewhere from seven to nine. And anybody who says they’re a perfect ten is just straight up lying to your face, we all have work to do.”

“That’s good enough. Boys!” Before Merle could say anything more, he felt a sharp pain from his neck. Bringing his left arm up to it he felt something sticking out from it. Cautiously, he removed what he discovered to be a dart from the lower left side of his neck, laced with a special root that caused drowsiness. His vision blurred and his body started to feel heavy, and Xebadiah was nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, shit…” Merle said before he passed out.

 

Merle awoke sometime later, his arms and legs tied down on some sort of hard and rocky surface (not his first rodeo where that was concerned). His vision was still blurred and his throat felt dry. All he could see was a small glow of white light, far above him.

“Pan… is that you?”

“Look how he calls to his puny God.” A voice covered in slime and malcontent said.

“Your God has no power here, you heathen.” A gruffer voice than the first added.

“Struggling is pointless, shorty.” A mixture of the previous two voices spat.

“Now just a minute!” Merle raised his head to try and look at his captors. “That’s going too far!”

“SILENCE!” The gruffer voice hit him on the leg with what he assumed was a wooden club.

“Ow! Jerk!” A hand grabbed his chin, giving Merle a good view at a gerblin with a pointed goatee, a nose and eyebrow ring, and the largest booger at the edge of his enormous schnoz. 

“Talk again and I’ll splatter your head!” He raised his wooden club for dramatic emphasis.

“Patience, brother.” A more familiar voice called from the darkness. “His health is vital for the ritual.” The gerblin threw Merle’s head back on the hard surface he was tied to.

“You think I don’t know this?! Do you dare question my devotion?!”

“I question your rationality.”

“I question it too!” Merle said, gaining the attention of the familiar voice.

“Ah, Mr. Highchurch. Or, Merle, as you said to call you. A big tongue to compensate for such a feeble body.” His footsteps echoed in the darkness, stopping as he leaned his head over Merle. “Welcome back to the land of the living. For however long it lasts, anyhow.” Xebadiah said.

“Xeb?”

“Xebadiah, if you please.” The gerblin boy was no different than when Merle met him not so long ago, save for the black robes he wore and a much deeper voice.

“Did you go through like a five second puberty or something, ‘cause your voice is freaking deep, man.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Did you take vocal lessons from Christopher Lee or something?”

“No, this is natural actually.”

“Michael Clarke Duncan?”

“No – well, I admit to modeling it a little off of his, I just appreciate his talent you know –”

“Sure.”

“He was a very good actor, taken far too soon.”

“I know.”

“Still get a little bummed thinking about it. Anyway, you may address me only as Xebadiah, Merle.”

“Aw, but I thought we had a good thing going, Xeb.”

“Xebadiah.” Xeb insisted.

“We were gonna learn about Pan and sing some folk songs.”

“Do I look like a folk song kind of gerblin, Merle?”

“We prefer hard rock.” The slimy-voiced gerblin said.

“And a little smooth jazz on Saturdays.” The mixed gerblin added.

“Yeah, you gotta break it up every so often.”

“The point is,” Xebadiah held a finger to silence his cohorts, “you played your part quite well, Merle Highchurch. Led blindly into a trap by your own blind faith in others.”

“I gotta say,” Merle said, “whatever it is you guys are doing, it doesn’t seem like age appropriate activity for you all.” Xebadiah looked down at the captive dwarf.

“You honestly still think I’m twelve, Merle?” Merle shrugged as best he could.

“I don’t know how gerblin puberty works.”

“Why is he so obsessed with puberty?” The slimy voiced gerblin asked.

“Yeah, you’re kinda freaking me out man.” The gruff gerblin said.

“Look, there are other ways to get out your pent-up aggression.” Merle offered. “After school clubs, gerblin scouts…”

“Merle, I’m thirty.” Xebadiah said.

“Same,” Slime (as Merle had started nicknaming them now) said.

“Thirty-one,” from Mix.

“Twenty-six.” Merle craned his head up to the gerblin who had hit him with the club. Quite obviously the biggest of the lot.

“Really?” He asked. Gruff got to his feet, club in hand.

“You calling me a liar?!” He would have hit Merle square on the chest were it not for Xebadiah’s timely intervention.

“Temper, brother. Do I have to take that club away from you?” There was a pause. “Well, do I?”

“…no…”

“Alright then. Now go stand in the corner until you’ve cooled off.” Gruff tromped to some corner of the darkness, grumbling as he did. “I suppose you’re wondering,” Xeb turned his attention back to Merle, “why you’re tied up as you are now?”

“I actually lost interest like, five minutes ago, Xeb.”

“The blatant impertinence!” Slime cried.

“Yeah, and he’s being disrespectful too!” Mix added. Xebadiah silenced them once more, this time with a fist.

“What you are laying on is a most sacred altar.” He ran his hand along the stone next to Merle’s face. “It has been used in many rituals since our temple’s inception. Dating all the way back to before the wretched city of Neverwinter was founded on the blood and bones of our gerblin ancestors. Too long we have operated in the shadows, scurrying like rats hiding from the li-”

“Waaaaaaaaait a minute,” Merle interrupted, “you said you weren’t religious!” Xebadiah gave the dwarf an incredulous sneer.

“To save us both time, Merle, I think it best you assume everything I said and did up until this point was a lie.”

“I should’ve known,” He shook his head, “my uncle always said never trust a gerblin.”

“Woooooow,” Mix said while Slime called out, “Racist!”

“Bigotry aside,” Xeb continued, “the purpose of our temple has always been to appease our God with the blood of dirty unbelievers like yourself. Quick, painless, efficient, you really should count yourself lucky we found you before any other cult did.”

“But what is your cult?” Merle asked. Xeb’s face seemed to brighten at this.

“Ah, I see our reputation still remains clandestine. How comforting.” He leaned close to Merle’s ear as he uttered the name of his dark temple. “The Church of Bane, Latter-day Saints.”

“Bane?” Xeb nodded. There was a flame growing in his eyes and the flash of jagged teeth as his tongue slithered across his lips. “So you’re like… a Tom Hardy fan club?” The flame was snuffed aborning.

“No.”

Gruff came roaring back into the center of the dark room, taking Merle by his shirt and smacking him against the altar.

“YOU. DARE. TO MOCK. OUR DARK LORD. AND SAVIOR. BANE.”

“Woah!” Mix and Slime were quick to jump on Gruff’s back, trying to calm him down as he kept thrashing Merle on the altar.

“Bring it down, mate, bring it down!” Mix was hanging on his neck as Gruff bellowed in religious fury. The rampage ended only when Xebadiah made a casual stroll up to his companion, who was at least twice his height and girth (he was able to pass for a twelve year old boy, after all) and gently took him by the ear.

“Enough.” He said softly. Gruff let go of Merle and the two other gerblins let go of him in turn. Xeb never lost his tranquil state as he brought Gruff to his eye level. “Brother,” his voice was the calm after a storm. “Is this about Denise?” Gruff broke down on the spot.

“I, try, so, haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!” He sniffled into Xeb’s shoulder.

“I know, brother, I know.” He patted the brute’s shoulder as the other two gerblins joined in their embrace. All three smaller gerblins could barely form a complete circle around his massive frame.

“We got to counseling… we do all the things the book tells us… we sacrifice bunnies in the blood moon to Bane but… it’s never enooooooouuuuuuuuuuuugh!”

“Easy brother, we’re here for you.” Slime pet Gruff’s bald head as he sang a quiet hymn.

“She’ll be right, mate, she’ll be right.” Mix, who had suddenly become Australian, rocked Gruff’s arm as best he could.          The four stayed like this for a while as Gruff laid himself bare, crying into Xeb while he and the others gave words of understanding, until it dissolved into a group song singing about the return of Bane and the destruction he would bring to the souls of Neverwinter and the world beyond. Merle, moved by this sentimentality, reached his hand as best he could over to Gruff’s nearest finger, still hanging close by him.

“Don’t touch me heathen!” He slapped the dwarf the moment their pinkies collided.

“There now,” Xeb said once Gruff had stopped crying, “do you feel better?”

“A little, yeah.” He wiped a strand of snot, and the large booger, from his nose, cleaning his finger on the edge of Merle’s trousers.  

“Would sacrificing the dwarf lift your spirits a bit more, hm?” Gruff answered with a shy smile and the tiniest nod. “I thought it would.” Xeb pinched his cheek.

“Alright, about time.” Slime rubbed his filthy hands together and retrieved a knife from within his black robe.

“Let’s put some shrimp on this barbie.”

The circle of friends formed a circle around the altar, each with a crooked knife in their hands, the hilts of each the same color of their robes except for a blood red jewel mounted at the end of every handle. Xebadiah, who had long since established himself as the leader, began an ominous chant. Foreign at first, but then translated to the common tongue.

“In the name of the Black Hand, we offer this heathen sacrifice to you, Bane, lord of darkness. Harbinger of doom. Truest and mightiest of the Gods.” The other gerblins repeated this chant, until Xebadiah repeated it again, adding in other titles and praises for their God here and there, until it became a mantra to lead Merle to his doom. The dwarf did not struggle against his bonds, nor did his eyes pass frantically from gerblin to gerblin. Instead, he closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed as hard and fast as he ever had in his life. His wooden arm began to move involuntarily as he did. Not enough to raise suspicion from his captors, nor to free him from the ropes, but he took it as a sign nonetheless. That someone out there was still watching over him. From a distance…

“ _Pan is watching us…_

_Pan is watching us…_

_Pan is watching us from a distance…_ ”

“What are you doing?” Xebadiah broke his chant. Merle ignored this and continued his song while the others continued their dark hymn.

“ _Pan is watching us…_

_Pan is watching us…_

_Pan is watching us from what sometimes feels like a really fucking long distance…_ ”

“Cease this incessant singing you fool!” Xebadiah ordered.

“What, if you guys get to sing your crap, let me have a last song at least.” Merle said.

“I can’t wait to sink my knife into you.” Gruff snarled.

“ _Paaaaaaaaaaaaan is watching…_ ”

“Will you shut him up?” Mix did as Xeb asked and gagged the dwarf with a rotten and crusty handkerchief. The ritual continued undeterred as the gerblins began to move their circle counter clockwise around the altar, the chant increasing as they slipped from the common to the foreign tongue. Their speed increased along with their chants, the light at the very top of the room starting to get dimmer and dimmer.

The gerblins suddenly stopped where they had been when they started the ritual. Xebadiah stood directly over his head as he had before, the knife poised in his hand, just above his mouth. They all raised their daggers and paused before plunging them inside.

“Let his blood be your sustenance, my lord.” And then they brought their knives downward.

Before any tip of the cold steel could touch his skin, a booming sound of thunder followed by a flash of light and the collapse of a nearby wall signaled to Merle Highchurch that he was not to die this day. For when the dust had cleared, and all five of the people in the room got over their shock, a large and burly figure stood in the middle of the large hole he had created. He stood at six feet exactly, was covered from head to toe in fur, and had muscles for days.

To the gerblins, even Gruff, he was an intimidating sight. But to Merle it was like having an old friend come to bail you out of detention with four murderous faculty members trying to appease their dark God. The bugbear threw a magical grenade up into the air and caught it in his right hand several times as the others stared at him with awe and trepidation.

“Pardon me,” Klarg said, “forgot to knock.”

“Sweet Bond reference, man!” Merle shouted.

“I try.” Merle gave a hearty and thankful laugh, Xebadiah was less enthused.

“Seize him!” Gruff let out a mighty roar and charged at Klarg, followed quickly by Mix and Slime. The bugbear first stepped out of Gruff’s path, tripping him as he dodged at the last second. Then, smacked Mix’s knife out of his hand with his enormous morningstar, aiming another swing at Slime who fell prone trying to duck under it.

“Steel yourselves, my brothers!” Xebadiah shouted. “The ritual cannot be completed with less than four of us!”

“Sucks to be you then, don’t it chump?!” Merle, concentrating all his strength to his wooden arm, ripped the ropes from his right arm, using it to quickly tear the rope from his other arm and legs as well, all while dodging the furious swipes from Xeb’s dagger. When all his limbs were free, Merle stood atop the altar so that he was about Xebadiah’s height. The gerblin heretic raised his knife once more to attack the dwarf, but left himself exposed in the process. Merle thrust his right arm directly into the gerblin’s chest, grabbing hold of his heart and squeezing it as he felt it beat within him. Xebadiah looked down at the hole in his chest, then at the dwarven cleric with aghast terror and a subtle show of respect. Merle smirked as he came up with an appropriate pre-mortem one liner.

“You betrayed Shiva, motherfucker!” Merle ripped his arm out of the gerblin’s chest, taking his heart along with it. Xebadiah fell limp to the floor, deader than disco.

Gruff, who had picked himself up from being tripped by Klarg, saw the lifeless body of his cohort and the heart that Merle held in his wooden hand. Releasing another cry of fury and anguish, Gruff rushed to attack Merle, stopped by Klarg who shoved the magic grenade he had been holding into his mouth, removed the pin before the gerblin inadvertently swallowed it whole, and tripped him again, sending him tumbling towards the altar.

“Merle, old buddy, you might wanna move.” The dwarf took his friend’s advice and jumped off the altar just as Gruff landed directly on top of it, having only a few moments to try and pick himself up again before he was blown to pieces.

“Aw, gross!” Slime held his hand to his mouth, retching.

“Crik-EGH!”  Mix’s terrible accent was cut short by a swift blow to the neck from Klarg’s morningstar, knocking his head clean off his body and flying to the other side of the room straight into a mouse hole (and thus the game of golf was invented in Neverwinter). Slime’s constitution was strong enough to stop him from barfing right then and there, but just barely.

“What is wrong with you guys?! You’re fucking sick!”

“Maybe so,” Klarg said, “but if you want my diagnosis…” He unsheathed his javelin on his back and threw it at the final gerblin, pinning him against the nearby wall of the formerly dark room and leaving him to struggle against it as he began to bleed out. Klarg approached him slowly, clenching his fist, poising it in front of the gerblin.

“Take two of these,” he pummeled Slime’s face into oblivion with only two punches, “and call me in the morning.”

Klarg removed the javelin from Slime’s stomach, his body sliding down the wall, coming to rest in a fetal position, and sheathed his two weapons with a content sigh. Merle was still on the floor, Xebadiah’s heart in his wooden hand and bits of Gruff all over his body. Klarg strolled up to him and offered his hand.

“Did you like that one?” He asked, helping Merle up.

“Eh, we could’ve workshopped it a little.”

“Oh, you think?”

“I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not Schwarzenegger good, you know what I mean?”

“Should I have told him to let off some steam, instead?”

“Not quite for that situation.”

“It’s not a tumor?”

“We can spitball it later.” Klarg agreed as the two stepped out of the chamber through the hole the bugbear had made and into the light of the city, revealing that the Church of Bane, Latter-day Saints was located smack dab between a daycare center and the local bookstore. Merle dusted some debris off him as no one around them seemed to bat an eye.

“Are you going to keep that?” Klarg pointed at the heart Merle still held in his wooden arm.

“Oh, no, forgot I had it to be honest.” He tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed with a squish back in the chamber.

“Do you think we should wait for the authorities to arrive?” Klarg asked, looking back at the mess they’d made.

“Nah, these things work themselves out. What I need right now are a couple of cold ones and a buddy to enjoy ‘em with. You in?” Klarg shrugged with a smile.

“Why not? Climb on my back.” Merle happily did so, until his legs were hanging off both side of the bugbear’s shoulders, Klarg holding the dwarf’s knees for support. With a light tap to the head Merle issued his command, “Hi ho silver, AWAY,” and the two ran galloped towards the nearest pub.

 

“I see.” The Director said, rubbing her chin in a speculative manner as Merle finished his story. “And this is your excuse for why you didn’t attend training this morning?”

“Wouldn’t really call it an excuse,” Merle said, still working with the largest hangover he had ever had in his considerably long life. “I mean, I almost died.”

“Of course.” They were in her office; Merle being summoned there sometime in the late afternoon while his companions were still on leave in the city below. Each of them had been expected to put in a few hours of training, or “pre-training” as it were, under the Director’s watch, before the real training began with the Regulators. Merle had been scheduled for earlier this morning, around the time his exploits with the cult of Bane took place. She stood from her desk and stared down at Merle.

“So if I’m to understand this,” she said, “you were kidnapped by some crazy evil religious gerblins, held captive with the intent of being sacrificed, saved by some bugbear named Klarg.”

“Saved our bacon plenty of times before.” Merle chimed in.

“Yes. He saved your bacon, as it were, without having any real indication as to where you’d be in such a huge city as Neverwinter, let alone that you’d be held captive and almost slaughtered.”

“Ah,” Merle winced as more of his alcoholic binge disagreed with him. “You see, I know you’re not much of a religious person but just hear me out; I’m convinced that my prayers to Pan summoned him to me, letting him know that I was in danger. So, he rushed to my aid as quick as he could, and saved my ass right in the nick of time.”

“Indeed, in the nick of time…” She walked to the side of her desk, her eyes never leaving Merle’s.

“Alright, Merle, I’m glad you’re alive, truly. And I’ll let you go sleep off your near sacrifice experience, but I have one more question for you.”

 “Shoot, Lucreesh.”

“Don’t call me that again.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, my question is this.” She raised herself up to her full height as she stood directly in front of Merle’s chair. “Explain to me what exactly a magical grenade is?”

Merle stood at her, dumbfounded.

“Well, uh, y’see, it’s this… prototype that the bugbears in Lucas’s lab were working on… or Lucas was working on I mean, and when… Klarg left Lucas’s lab, he used to work for him, see-”

“I’m well aware.” The Director cocked her eyebrow as the dwarf babbled on.

“So, so, he used the magical grenades, that Lucas had been working on… to save me… see?”

“You’ve met Klarg several times haven’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t he use his ‘magical grenades’ at any other point in your history?” Merle opened his mouth as he thought of an excuse, but all that eventually came out of it was a drawn out, “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.” Satisfied, the Director nodded her head.

“I think a bit of special training is in order for this discrepancy, don’t you?” She let slip a coy and triumphant smile. “Davenport,” she addressed the gnome standing at the corner of her office, “prepare the arena for Merle, if you would.”

“DAVENPORT.” Davenport said, trotting out of the office as Merle sat silent. His mouth was still open, and eventually some coherent and appropriate words did form from them.

“Ah, shit…”

 

**...**

 

**Oh, don’t act so surprised, when was the last time Merle was ever that competent or cool? Besides, if you’re familiar with Lost or The Sopranos, you’ll know the ending isn’t what’s really important right…**

**Anyhow, we come to the third and final of our stories. Where an elven wizard takes in the finer dining of the fair city only to find that he’s on a date… with Death! I mean, literally, he’s on a date with Death, but also THERE’S DEATH INVOLVED!!!**

**Yes, strap yourselves in for the dooziest of doozies. The crème de la crème of culinary disasters. The cherry atop a flaming stove of-**

Thank you, bubala, that’s enough.

**Ah, what the?!**

Toddle off now, dear, there’s no more need for you.

**Wha-what are you talking abou-**

Look, I’m sure we’ve all enjoyed the past two buildups to disappointment, but it’s time to pack it in for the day, now go on.

**B-but-**

Go on now.

**But, I-**

Shoo, shoo little one, skeedaddle.

**Oh I… okay…**

Yes, have a good one, buh-bye… this is how I spent my Tuesday.


	4. Taako's Tuesday

Let me tell you a little-known fact about Neverwinter, m’dudes… it blows.

Seriously, how many ways can I say this city sucks; The streets are crowded, the shops are overpriced, the décor is tacky, the air is humid and stinks like a horse’s anus, gum gets stuck to your boots all the stinking time, you’re looking at some grade A suckage all around. So, Taako, what were you doing spending the better part of your afternoon in this city of suckage, you might ask. Well first all, that’s not really any of your business is it, and second there’s only so many places you can go on the moon before you run into people like cat face from Fantasy Costco butting into your personal life.

But if you wanna get into specifics; I was frequenting one of the ritzier eating establishments on the west side of the city, a place called Denny’s, waiting for my date. He picked the restaurant the last time we met up and said he’d meet me there on the twenty-fifth at noon-thirty. Brief tangent on dating advice; If you want to make a good impression with somebody, it’s _always_ a good idea to show up late. Granted this was about the second or third date I’d been on with this fella, but fourth impressions are just as, if not more important than the first. I mean, first impressions are one thing, but it’s the fourth impression that’s the seal dealer.

However, there’s also a key distinction most people fail to understand about showing up late. “Fashionably late,” is tossed around like a hacky sack, but then there’s _fashionably_ late. What’s the difference, you ask? The look, Watson, the look.

I’m not one to really care about my appearance while doing bizz for the Bureau, but as a former host of a popular cooking show, “Sizzle It Up with Taako,” (I’m working on a trademark for that), I’m probably the most qualified person to tell you that presentation is everything where it counts.

That Tuesday, for example, I was wearing a turquoise, low cut top (showing off a little chest is a great way to start some conversations), a pair of black, bootcut jeans, and two brown leather boots, waterproof of course. Not that the weather is ever a huge concern in this Gods-forsaken cesspit. Here in Neverwinter, there’s only ever one type of consistent weather; dry as fuck. The yearly rainfall amounts to about five inches in total, and you can fathom a guess as to how much snow falls during winter in a city named Neverwinter. And the weather, the cruel bastard it is, never takes prisoners when it comes to hair. I went with the best hat in my closet that didn’t totally clash with the rest of my getup, but do you have any idea how tacky it is to wear a hat into as fancy an eating establishment as Denny’s just to keep your frizzled, oily top under wraps?

You might be thinkin’, ‘Well, why don’t you use a spell to keep your hair all shampooed and polished, Taako boy,’ and to this I can only assume you know nothing of spell slots. Even on your vacation days you can’t just spend those willy-nilly. Do I need to tell you the story of the time my team and I got shrunk at the beach and we had to deal with giant crabs and shit [donate to maximumfun.org for more details].

Anywhooo, the weather was already putting me in a stinkin’ mood, but I showed at noon forty-five on the dot and saw hide nor bone of my date, not even a message on my Stone of Farspeech.  This sounds hypocritical, I get that, but it’s a whole other thing if the person inviting you out is fashionably late. The invitee isn’t faced with too much pressure for showing up on time, y’see. When they show up super early with the appetizer and/or a fresh basket of bread on the table already, it’s charming. When the person they asked out in the first place has to do it, it’s pathetic, and I could already tell I was being judged for it by every other table around me. Some kid in the booth in front of me, for one, was making ugly faces at me. Having nothing better in the way of entertainment I made a few of my own, ready to defend my title for “Ugliest Face Ever Made” in middle school. I’m not saying magic had anything to do with that win, but once I cast that familiar transforming spell on my face for five seconds to change into the form of a hideously disfigured mix Lauren Becall and Humphrey Bogart that shut the kid up.

It was five minutes after one when I checked the time, some mozzarella sticks already on the table and some Bordeaux settling in my hand with a few gentle shakes. I was a little peeved, not gonna lie, especially when the waiter, some sweaty, scrawny dude named Kenneth, kept pestering me about ordering.

“Sir, I-I don’t mean to trouble you, but I was wondering if you’d like another plate of mozzarella sticks?”

“Nu thnk u” I said, savoring the lovely pre-meal I was definitely not going to foot at this rate.

“V-very well. I was also curious as to whether you’d like to-to order now?”

“Thtsh,” I washed down the sticks with some wine, “funny. I didn’t realize my date was here already. Did he turn invisible while I wasn’t looking?”

“N-no, sir.”

“All right then. It’s incredibly rude to order before everyone is present. Is the chicken parmesan gluten free, btw?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good man, I’ll take two.” I pinched his cheek and gave it a love pat to send him on his way. Sweet kid, hope he stayed in school.

The way they prepared food here was absolutely disgraceful. No flash or flourish, no communication with the patrons, a kitchen full of lifeless drones who didn’t seem to put any energy into what they did (Kenneth was an exception, but something kinda felt off about him too). The atmosphere was drab to boot. The walls were painted a boring, beige color and the paintings of bugbears playing poker or elves having a picnic in the park were lifeless. A simple spell could at least make them move around a little, but Denny’s had a strict and barbaric ‘no magic’ rule that even extended to the guests, taking any type of wand you had upon entry. I’d only managed to sneak the Umbra Staff in because of its unique, umbrella-like design. It was propped up on the cushion next to my leg underneath the table.

The food came about ten minutes after I’d ordered, Kenneth easing them down along with a refill of my wine.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, d-did you want me to keep the other one until your date arrives?”

I told him to leave it, bringing the glass to my lips and sipping as genteel as I could until he retreated back into the kitchen. Then I chugged that sucker until every last drop was gone, wiped my lips with a long burp and got my stuff to make like a tree and get the fuck outta dodge before someone stopped me. I crammed a little of the chicken into my bag before I went, waste not want not, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Sorry I’m-”

“WINONA DID IT!” I raised my hands and turned around, looking square at the face of the dupe who’d left me hanging for the past thirty minutes. Smug, that’s what he was, making me go through a fancy-schmancy rigmarole in a fancy-shmancy restaurant with fancy-assy people judging me. I can still picture him perfectly even now; Pressed black suit with a red tie, a red handkerchief tucked into his upper left pocket. His piercing eyes staring into the soul he’d tried to steal like a billion times before, and that voice as smooth as twelve baby bottoms.

“-late. Sorry I’m late, Taako, got held up at work.” He could melt butter with that puppy-dog frown of his.

“Oh, no worries at all, I was just,” I eased the chicken from my bag back onto the plate, “killing time, y’know. Making small talk with the waiters and other people and such.”

“Good,” Kravitz sat at the other side of the table, “good, I hoped you didn’t think I’d stood you up.”

“Saved you a stick.” I put the last mozzarella stick on his plate.

 “Oh, thanks. Is this chicken-”

“Gluten free.” I said with a wink. “Bordeaux?”

“Please.”

I coooould give you a play by play of how the rest of this little get together went down, but a fella’s entitled to his own secrets, y’know. To sum up it was a bunch of talk about what Kravitz had been up to before then, dealing with a cursed elf in a smaller village about fifty miles from Phandalin (or at least where it used to be, semantics), and some general small talk about anything else we hadn’t covered in the other dates we’d been on with some repeats of the classics. He complimented my shirt (told you), I complimented the poof in his hanky, I said something along the lines of, “Work was really killer, wasn’t it,” and got what was at least a pity laugh, nuthin’ too special among friends. Or… more (*wink-wink*).

“I mean what do you expect would happen after that,” Kravitz said, talking about one of his first jobs while working under the Raven Queen, “the guy let a demon suck his soul out in exchange for his girlfriend’s, no way you’re recovering from that.”

“Heavy shit.” I took another sip, swirling it around in my mouth to savor the cheap, store-bought flavor.

“Yeah. It’s a little messed up some of the things you have to see, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Like what?”

“Necromancers bringing back their dead children or spouses or anything of the like. Wizards trying to prolong or cheat death to buy their ailing loved ones some more time. It’s not all adventurer hunting, what I do. Some of the people I cross to the other side deserve it, I’ll never deny that. But then you see some of the other stuff… the people trying to spend a little more borrowed time they can’t have. It’s… something.”

I learned a long time ago being sentimental got you nowhere in life, not when the world was the way it was. Fending for myself was pretty much how it was from day one, figuring out quickly that relying on others was a knife to the back waiting to happen. I’d made that mistake before, let myself get too close, and people literally died because of it. I could never move past that, even knowing it wasn’t my fault… actually, it still kinda was wasn’t it…

I’ve thought a lot about Kravitz and me. How I probably shouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him given his profession. I’ve seen enough of him in my life, even before we met, and it’s only gotten worse ever since I bumped paths with the others and joined the Bureau. None of them could ever understand, and I didn’t want to throw a pity party for myself anyway. But in that one moment, out of all the others I’d had with him before, it almost felt like there was someone who knew exactly what I meant. A dude who’d seen too much death in his time, trying to play it off like it was all part of the job. But you can’t just play it off, not entirely, no matter how good a showman you are. You didn’t need to run your own show to understand that.

I put my hand over his, rubbing the tips of my fingers against his. It looked like he didn’t know how to respond at first but didn’t object either, moving his pointed digits along with mine. Then I started to pinch at the sides of his hand with my thumb and pinky on impulse and that didn’t blow over as well.

“Sorry, I kinda don’t know what I’m doing.” I admitted, getting a genuine laugh out of him this time.

“It’s fine. It feels good.” He turned his hand over and touched his palm with mine, moving his fingers so that they almost glided against it.

 “I always forget how goddamn cold your hands are.” I said.

“Sorry, I kinda don’t know what _I’m_ doing.”

“Get your own material.” We snickered simultaneously, staying like that for a bit until the food started to get cold too.

“Hello there folks,” the moment was ruined by this robust brunette wearing an apron over a well-kept uniform and a manager’s badge pinned over both. Said her name was Polly... Pimbert… Pecos… no, Polly. Obnoxiously interrupting is what I’d call her. “How’s everythin’ to yer likin’?”

“Exceptional.” Kravitz said, being generous. I moved my hand in an ‘eeeeeeh’ motion, keeping my eyes on him.

“Let me or anyone else know what more we can do for ya, ya hear?” She left as soon as she arrived, back to the kitchen to hopefully ruin someone else’s real talk.

“You don’t have a filter at all do you?” Kravitz asked, not really arguing about the quality of the food or drinks in this joint.

“What can I say,” I shrugged, “brutal honesty is an underrated virtue. Nice ass, by the way.” I didn’t know Death could blush before then. I made sure to remember that.

The rest was the same as before; A little bit of this, a little bit of that, quirky humor and goofs all around mixed with some cheap ass wine and disgusting chicken that was in the running for the top five best afternoons of my life (no points for guessing the others). Either my hand was starting to grow numb or I’d finally gotten used to Kravitz’s clammy meat hooks when his eyes flashed red.

“Woah, you just went all devil on me there, buddy.”

“Something’s up.”

“Hell yeah it is.” His eyes moved around the restaurant, but he wasn’t looking at anything inside it (not much of that anyway).

“What’s the buzz?” He retracted his hand from mine, which had now morphed into a skeletal form.

“Something… close.” Kravitz scooted out of the booth and rose slowly as he kept his concentration, right till his entire, perfect body was replaced by bone. Although, as far as bones went, I’d definitely call him one of the sexier kinds… what?

“I have to go.” He started to leave before turning around. “Uh, wait right there, I promise I won’t be long!” He tore a rift through the space time continuum or whatever and vanished right in the middle of the restaurant, turning everyone’s heads to stare at mine like he’d dumped both our wine glasses on it.

“He’s coming back.” I assured them, reaching over with my fork to steal the last mozzarella stick he hadn’t touched. I managed to hork down the rest of my meal (and a little more of his) when I felt something bumping against my leg. I could feel it before a few times, but I thought it was just Kravitz being frisky.

I looked down and saw the Umbra Staff, leaning up against the booth where I left it, going crazy and jerking against me as it tried to unfurl itself. Usually a good whack or two could get it to bring it down a level, but the way it was moving now, I wasn’t sure there was a lot I could do to stop it. It had already tried to basically kill (or whatever) Kravitz before, I wasn’t about to let it try again.

“Noooo you don’t, compadre.” I put it on my lap, strangling it as its shaking only got worse. You’d think it would settle down once Kravitz left, but it took everything I had to keep it from blasting the old couple sitting at a table a few feet away from me. And it wasn’t like I spoke umbra-eese to figure out what the problem was. Not that I had time to.

“Oh! Hello sir!” An excited, young voice called out. I knew damn well who it was even before he ran up to my booth, planting his keister on the other side where Kravitz had sat. “It’s so nice to see you Mr. Tacco! I mean, we see each other pretty often, but not so much outside the B-, uh,” he cupped his hand over his mouth, “the you know where.”

“Ango,” I said, a pet name I’d come up for Angus over the months, “buddy, good to see you. I know I’ve been a little late in restarting your training since I came back-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that sir, I’ve been doing a lot of training on my own!”

“That’s great, but uh-”

“I’ve learned a new spell too!”

“Oh, have you?”

“Yeah, do you wanna see?! Only… shoot, I can’t show you ‘cause, they took my wand away when I came in here.” He slumped a little in the cushion. “Plus, it’s a little dangerous in a crowded restaurant…”

“You can show me later, anyway, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.” I gestured at the plate on his side of the table. Angus, a detective by trade, could probably take a hint as strong as that.

“Wow, are you eating two whole chickens by yourself, sir?” I frowned.

“No. It just so happens, I’m on a date.” He cupped his hands over his mouth again as he gasped, making me regret my confidence in him pretty quickly.

“Ooooooh, that’s wonderful!”

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to act so surprised.”

“Oh, of course-”

“I like to think I’m a pretty good catch.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, anyone would be lucky to be in a relationship with you.”

“Well…”

“But you haven’t mentioned anything about it at all. Not to me at least.” He sounded a bit disappointed and I couldn’t help but feel a touch sorry for the little guy. He’d always been honest with me at least, but then again kids have an even worse filter than I do so it’s not like they can shut up about any secret they have for long.

“Well, look Angus; Sometimes, as an adult, physically speaking, you’re entitled to a certain amount of privacy in your personal life, away from work and the people you work with, see?”

“I think so.”

“So, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you these things or that I don’t trust you, I just don’t really see the need to bring up my personal life while we’re on a mission or when we’re training. Time and place, y’know?”

“Oh, yes sir,” he shook his head, “I totally understand. But, if I can ask, where’s your date now?” I started to speak but stammered a bit. Glancing around the restaurant anywhere to avoid Angus’s naïve innocent stare behind those adorably nerdy glasses.

“Let me respond to that with another question; What are you doing here?”

“Oh, right!” He looked around us too before beckoning me closer as he stood on the cushions to lean across the table. I played along, the scene of a tiny child whispering into a full-grown elf’s ear in no way drawing suspicion from the other guests.

“The Director sent me here on a secret mission,” he whispered. “She thinks there’s some kind of magical artifact hidden somewhere in this restaurant.”

“A Relic?” I asked. Ango shook his head. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.

“Not a Relic, but something with just as much power in the wrong hands. You see-”

“H-how’s everything go-” Kenneth stood by the table again, his first time coming back to the table since before Kravitz came. Which probably explained the bewildered and somewhat disturbed look he had on his face. “S-sir, is this… your date?”

“No, you boob!” I said, a little disturbed myself at the time how that was the first thought he came to.

“S-sorry sir, my mis-t-take sir.” He bowed as he left us alone.

“Anyway, you were saying?”

“Right,” Angus went on. “You see, she, the Director, sensed a higher concentration of dark magic coming from this district, and she was able to narrow it down to this exact building, in this exact restaurant.”

“Should’ve guessed, this place was bumming my mellow since I got here.” I said, not drawing attention to the still struggling Umbra Staff on my lap.

“So, she sent me down here to investigate, undercover. Just like Caleb Cleveland in Mincing with Minstrels!”

“Yeah, right. Listen, I’ll let you do whatever investigating you have to do, boyo. But I’d really appreciate it if you could make yourself sc-”

“Sorry Taako.” Fuck me. “I guess it was nothing. I didn’t mean to…” Thus, my protégé and my sweetheart met for the first time. An awkward meeting made a bijillion times worse since Kravitz hadn’t changed back into his handsome form yet.

“AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-” Dj’angus started yelling as he crawled backwards further into the booth. I took another hard gulp of wine as Kravitz tried to talk him down.

“No, no, little boy, shush, it’s all right it’s-” He put his skeletal hand on the kid’s shoulder, and that went about as well as you’d think.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

“No! I’m sorry, shhhhh.” The spectacle started to draw a crowd, every other guest staring at us with either concern or annoyance. I was used to it at this point.

“What is that child’s problem?!” The older woman at the table a few feet from us said, sharing a hissy fit with her pruned up sugar daddy.

“It’s a shame the law discourages beating another couple’s child, eh Dolores?” He said. I stood up on my cushion, Umbra Staff in hand and going completely nuts, and pointed it at them.

“You got something to say about my boy detective – er, regular boy – PUNKS?!” A few sparks from the staff flew their way, landing right on their frog legs that stood up on the table and can-canned out the door, doing a rendition of the classic “Hello My Baby” bit.

“Sir,” the manager was coming over at this point, resting murder face written all over her. I hid the staff behind my back while Kravitz was still scarring Angus for life.

“Sir,” what’s her face said, “is that a wand?” She pointed behind my back at the umbrella, writhing in my hands trying to break loose.

“Uh… no?” A few sparks zipped out of the wand and flung me two feet in the air before I landed square on the old couple’s table.

“I’m never eating here again!” The old bat shouted.

“Unless it’s a discount day!” Her pimp finished, and then they both left the story (thank God).

“I thought so. Alright, all of you, out of my restaurant, now!” The staff, which I’d dropped upon landing, started to circle around the floor like a bottle spinning (taunting me with something I’d much rather be doing right then) until it landed on the manager, Pammy… Peggy… Pol- yeah Polly!

“What the hell’s it doing?!” The staff sent a few sparks her direction as it tried its damndest to unfurl itself. I grabbed the tablecloth, knocking the rest of the abandoned food on the floor (no loss there) and covering the staff before it could fire another spell at… her.

“Sir,” Angus said, finally calmed down but giving Kravitz a wide berth as he crawled out of the booth from underneath the table, “What’s wrong with your staff?”

 “Heck if I know, it’s been bugging out ever since you left.” I said to Kravitz, still a skeleman and looking at the manager’s name tag.

“Madame,” her abject stare of complete terror reminded him he was still in his work clothes. He changed back with a groan and to my eternal delight. “Madame, may I see your nametag for a moment?” The lady put her hand over the tag and backed away from him.

“Whatever for?”

“Curiosity.” His accent had slipped into a cockney one, things were getting serious.

“Bugger your curiosity,” now she had one too, I guess, “I told you all to leave, don’t make me call the authorities!”

“Do I look like I fear the law, **Madame**?” Oooh, I got the chills just thinking about it.

“Maybe you’ll fear a knife to the gullet. Now get out of here and don’t come-”

“Mage hand!” All our heads turned to Ango, and a giant floating hand that hovered next to his face. The hand moved to the front of the restaurants, opening the cabinet where all the wands were kept.

“Hey...” The guy at the door said in weak protest as the hand came back with Angus’s wand.

“Dispel magic!” He pointed his wand at the manager woman, turning the nametag into a strange stone and my heart to putty. The little guy really had been learning.

“Back away!” Pom Bombadil pulled a wand of her own from underneath her apron, grabbing the stone before it reached the floor. “All of you!” Angus kept his wand pointed at her and Kravitz’s scythe apparated to his side. The Umbra Staff was currently sitting under my butt underneath a tablecloth but, I’m pretty sure we all had her covered.

“Child,” Kravitz said to… well, guess, “how did you know that she was using an illusion?”

“I dunno, sir,” he shrugged, I could tell he was still pretty wary about him but at least he wasn’t a giant demonic skeleton anymore. “Just a hunch.”

“Listening to the inner wizard in him!” I said. Angus beamed with pride.

“Yeah! My inner wizard!”

“Okay, don’t get a swelled head, buckaroo.”

“Sorry.”

“You’ll get a clear view of everything else inside him if you don’t leave! Now!”

“I’m assuming the presence I felt was that stone.” Kravitz pointed to what Pus was still cradling in her meaty right hand. “And the reason you don’t allow wizards to carry their wands with them into the restaurant proper is so they wouldn’t be able to detect it as easily.”

“How very perceptive of you. But even you can’t possibly comprehend the power I-”

“Excuse me?” Her head spun around to a customer sitting alone at a table on the other side of the restaurant. “Could I get a refill on some water please?”

“Oh, sorry sir, Kenneth! Table ten! But even YOU can’t possibly comprehend the power I possess. The power to make every rival eatery squirm… in the palm of my hand.” She chuckled as she uncurled her fingers from the stone, until she was full blown evil laughing. Personally, I would’ve rated that pun like a five at most, worthy of a snort, not so much a chucklaugh.

“Mr. Tacco,” Angus whispered to me, “do you notice something familiar about that stone?” I had to squint a little but the boy wonder was right. I had seen a stone like that before. It was, in point of fact, the object that led to my first meeting with Kravitz.

“The Philosopher’s Stone?”

“But that can’t be,” Angus said, “the Director destroyed it!”

“What are you on about?” Pimmy Schmidt asked.

“Where did you find another Philosopher’s Stone?” Angus asked her.

“Speak up when you talk boy, all I’m hearing is static.” Ango and I exchanged a look. So it wasn’t the stone, or some kind of unknown twin at the very least. “Since all you seem to be interested in is spouting nonsense, let me tell you a little old wives’ tale about a powerful, alchemic object; The Philosopher’s Stone!” Angus and I looked at each other again.

“Gooo oooon.” I said, leaning my head against my arm.

“It’s said to be the most powerful object in the known universe,” well, she was one-seventh right, “an elixir of everlasting life. Making gold, prolonging life, and perhaps… giving it back.”

“Thank the Raven Queen it’s just a story,” Kravitz said, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “No such power should belong to anyone.”

“And why not?! Especially when it has such practical uses? Think of it, if one can revive the dead, perhaps an entire army of the dead, what could one man, or woman do to-”

“Ahem!” The customer at table ten interrupted again. “My water, please?”

“Kenneth! Get out here, boy! Terribly sorry sir, he’s still in training. WHAT could one man, or woman do if they were to possess a stone that could grant such power?”

“Abuse it.” Kravitz retorted. “Like mankind always does.”

“Not I.” She held up the stone. “You see, this is no Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Shocker!” I gasped.

“It is merely the closest thing anyone has ever made to it. Though it cannot create gold or prolong life, it can at least give some back. I call it, the Resurrection Stone.”

“Wow, J.K. Rowling’s lawyers are gonna have a field day with us.”

“Silence, elf!” She pointed her wand at me, Kravitz sidestepping to get in her way (such a keeper). “But yes, the Resurrection Stone may not give me the literal gold I crave, but it has still provided me with great comfort besides.”

“But what does a restaurant manager need with a stone that can revive dead ghost bodies or stuff like that?” Angus asked.

“Look around you, boy. See for yourself.” We did look around us, and back at the kitchen where the staff were watching us attentively, or as attentively as they could manage. Their sunken eyes, bored expression and general craving for release suddenly took on a new meaning.

“You’re using zombies as your staff?!” I said. The manager laughed again, cut short when I added, “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

“Taako!” Kravitz said.

“Kidding, just kidding, sheesh.”

“And now, I think I may add three more bodies to my collection.”

“What about us?” A customer at the booth nearest to the manager asked.

“Are you gonna tell anyone about this?” He shook his head, followed by everyone else in the restaurant and a mumbled ‘all I want is my water’ from table ten. “All right then, I’ll give you all free coupons as you’re leaving for being such good sports.”

“I like free coupons.” Another customer said. Suddenly the kitchen door flew open and a scrawny, sweaty, smelly teenager burst through to the restaurant.

“Aunt Polly!” Dun dun duuuuuuuun. “Enough!”

“Kenneth!” Aunt – er – Polly’s face was overcome with shock. “What do you think you’re doing? Where’s table ten’s water?!”

“I will not serve refills for this restaurant anymore!” ‘Aw man,’ I heard from ten, “nor gluten free chicken or frog legs or any other of this garbage food for your garbage eatery!”

“Hallelujah!” I cried.

“There’s something you all should know! I’ve known it ever since I started working here, and I can’t stomach the secret any longer! Polly’s been using the dead to serve and make your food!”

“We know already!” A customer shouted. Kenneth shrunk from a lion to a mouse in the span of one millisecond.

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah, she, kinda confessed about a minute ago.” Angus said.

“Get with the times, my man.” I said. Kenneth stared at us, then at his aunt, then at the zombies who were nodding slowly.

“Oh… then I’m leaving. Bye.” He took his nametag off and put it gently on the nearest table, as… his aunt tried to call him back.

“Kenneth! Kenneth, you come back here right now! Kenneth! Don’t make me call your mother, you bad boy! Ken-AH!”  By the time Kenneth was out the door the Umbra Staff had finally won the struggle against my butt, opening and sucking the stone straight out of what’s her face’s hand along with her wand for good measure. After that it was motionless, putting up no resistance when I picked it up again. The manager stared at her hand that had held the stone and then at the one that had her wand, eyes bulging and the tiniest squeak oozing out of her mouth. Have to admit, that almost made eating here worth it.

“You idiot!” She shouted at me for some reason. “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“Don’t blame me!” I said, holding the staff over my shoulder. “This thing likes to eat magical shit; I can’t control it sometimes.”

“At least now a stone that powerful can’t be used for your own misdeeds.” Kravitz said. His higher moral compass was a bit of a turn on, if I’m being honest with you.

“The stone is one thing!” She shouted. “That wand was the only thing keeping my staff in check!”

“What do you mean?” Angus asked.

“I mean th-” The zombies explained it for her, breaking through the door and slowly descending on her. “MOTHERFU-AAAAAH” Was the last thing she said before three members of her crew gave her their two-week notice. Most of the other zombies moved past their boss, going for other customers and for us.

“Everyone, clear out, onto the street!” Kravitz ordered. The restaurant was quick to comply, with people practically jumping on top of each other to scramble for the door, all except one elderly pair of ladies dressed in their Sunday finest (on a Tuesday (they’re old cut them some slack)) who were exiting at a much more relaxed pace.

“A very interactive floor show, this one.” I heard one comment.

“Yes, we _must_ come back tomorrow.”

The three of us were the last ones left in the building. Kravitz got a few good swipes of his scythe and I used a couple spells to slow a few down, but even more coming in from the kitchen. Pretty soon they were going to swarm the entire restaurant, and block off the door while they were at it.

“Got any more spells?” Kravitz asked.

“Course, just gimme a second, I’ll think of something.” And this is where I’d bring up my comment from earlier on why it’s always a good idea to use your spell slots wisely, but that wouldn’t matter ‘cause at that point Angus Potter jumped in front of us and raised his wand to the zombies.

“FIRE BOLT!” A mote of fire shot out of Ango’s wand, missing the zombies but firing straight into the kitchen, where one of the staffers had neglected to turn off the stove in their mad hunger lust to get some brains. It exploded all at once, blasting away at a good chunk of zed-boys in the radius, and catching several more on fire who caught several more and so on.

“Quick, run!” Kravitz ushered us both out of the restaurant while the zombies were distracted, just in time before a beam fell in front of the door and locked them inside. The flames from inside were starting to catch all around the exterior of the building, and many of the patrons from before stood on the other side of the sidewalk to watch the commotion, joined by some passerby as well.

“Well,” Kravitz said, dusting his pants off, “if it’s all the same to you, Taako… I think I’ll keep letting you decide the locations from now on.”

“Deal.”

Angus was dusting off his glasses and coughing up soot when Kravitz addressed him.

“You’re very skilled with magic, lad. You wouldn’t happen to be Angus, would you?”

“Y-yes sir, that’s me, Angus McDonald, sir.” Ango said, holding his hands behind his back.

“Taako did mention you were coming along nicely with your magic. I do believe you’ve saved quite a lot of lives today.” Angus McKiddo looked up at the man who made him shit his pants ten minutes ago with reverence.

“Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head.

“Just Kravitz, if you please.”

“Y’know,” I pulled him aside, “you could’ve just used your rift thingy to get us out of there, right?”

“Possibly,” he whispered, “I’ve never tried to bring a living soul over that wasn’t ready for death.”

“Well, maybe we oughta try it some time.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

“Maybe.” He laughed. “Right now I’ve got some collecting to do.” He was back in his skeletal form and heading back inside the restaurant to do what he did best. Angus and I moved to the other side of the street with the other looky-loo’s as the fire started to utterly decimate the restaurant.

“Do you think I should leave a note?” Angus asked me.

“Nah, it was a lousy restaurant anyway, no one will miss it.” I tussled his ash-covered hair. “You did good, kid.”

“Really?”

“Solid eight outta ten. Nah, I’ll give you a nine.” We watched a little more of the building burn, all of us jumping at another explosion from inside. “Say listen,” I turned to Ango again, “I’d appreciate it if you kept this on the DL from the other guys, huh?”

“You mean, you and Kravitz?” Perceptive little shit.

“Yep.”

“But I thought you liked Kravitz?”

“Yeah, he’s a dream boat, don’t get me wrong, but you remember the whole ‘personal life’ thing we talked about before.”

“Oh, okay. I won’t say a thing.” He mimed his lips shut and threw away the zipper.

“I owe you one, kiddo. Next time we’re in town I’ll take you to a Fantasy McDonald’s or something. Can you get a family discount there?”

“Uh, no, it’s another McDonald family, I have no relation to it.”

“Forget it then.” The roof caved in shortly after that, and the crowd started to get bored, leaving not long after that. Angus and I stood there a few minutes more, watching the flames pollute the city’s already disgusting atmosphere.

“Uh, Mr. Tacco, is he gonna be okay in there?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s been through worse.”

“Oh… so… what are we doing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been any good at ending stories.”

“What?”


	5. Epilogue

Magnus Burnsides slunk inside the suite sometime after midnight. His feet ached after all the running and stunts he’d been doing in the span of under an hour. On the sofa in the middle of the suite that conjoined his and his companions’ rooms, Merle Highchurch sat in a stupor. His armor was cast aside by his door, and dirty footprints led to where he sat.

“What happened to you?” He asked.

“You remember that bender last night?” Merle said without looking at him.

“No.”

“Exactly.” Several bones in his body cracked and popped when he stretched his stubby legs out. “Overslept through some training I was supposed to go to this morning. Director caught me with my pants down.”

“Eeeew.”

“No! She caught me lying I mean. Gave me drills straight outta Hell.”

“Hm, sounds horrible.” Magnus went to the fridge and opened up a cold one, grabbing another for the dwarf. “What’d you tell her?”

“Eh, something about a sacrifice and Klarg coming to rescue me with some magic grenades.”

“Magic grenades?”

“It sounded legit at the time.” Magnus popped the other beer open on the table Merle’s dirty feet were resting on, handing it to him. “Thanks.” Half the bottle was gone after that first chug.

“Where did you come up with something as dumb as magic grenades?” The door to the suite opened, and the third of their trio, arms full of shopping bags, announced himself.

“Gooood morning beautiful people! And you too Merle.” Merle winced at the shrillness of Taako’s voice.

“Were you down in Neverwinter too?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“I dunno, you just seem so… happy.” Taako dumped the bags on the kitchen bar.

“So?”

“You’re never happy when you come back from Neverwinter.”

“Some shit days are better than others.” He shrugged, mixing some vodka for himself and casting a fire spell on a hot pocket straight out of the box. “Don’t bother me.” He ran into his room, vodka mix and hot pocket in both hands (Stone of Farspeech hanging out of his pocket) and kicked the door shut.

“Think I’m gonna crash too.” Magnus yawned as he stretched himself out. “You gonna stay out here for awhile?”

“Uh… I don’t really have much of a choice, I can’t move my anything.” Merle opened his eyes, giving Magnus the best puppy look he could manage. It was more akin to a scientific experiment gone wrong, begging for the sweet release of a pillow to the face.

“What?” Magnus asked.

“Carry me.” Magnus frowned, rolling his eyes as he picked the dwarf up in a bridal position, carrying him all the way across the suite and to Merle’s room. Merle’s arms were locked around Magnus’s neck, in a much too intimate pose for the young warrior. “You have beautiful eyes,” was the last straw before Magnus tossed the dwarf onto his bed without stepping a toe into his room. “Not cool!” Merle said into his pillow while Magnus shut his door.

Training was early for the Trés Horny Boys tomorrow, so he’d need as fresh a start as he could get. And yet, Magnus found himself resting on the sofa, staring out into the black and endless sky outside his window, Faerun far below them. Whatever Relic was next down there, it was gonna be serious. And now, in the place he’d called his home for almost a year, with the people who had become something of a second family, he wondered if he was ready for what came next.

He wondered if any of them were ready.


End file.
